


Confessions

by Castielsavedme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:19:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielsavedme/pseuds/Castielsavedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a strange way of showing affection. John doesn't know how to interpret it. Confusion arises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

 “John.”

John continued to ignore the constant callings of his name and continued to read the morning paper.

“ _John._ ”

John continued reading and took a sip of his coffee. There was silence for a few seconds. John thought Sherlock had finally given up. Then-

**BANG BANG BANG BANG**

The sounds of gunfire rang through the flat. “Bloody hell!” shouted John. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“…John. Here. Now.” said the drowsy, muffled voice of Sherlock Holmes.

John considered his options, and decided to go to Sherlock. It was either continue to ignore Sherlock, or have Sherlock wake up Mrs Hudson (and half the street) with gunfire, which was never a good idea.

John hovered outside Sherlock’s door for a second, wondering what misfortune would befall him when he stepped into the room. Sherlock had been acting strange – well, stranger than _usual_ \- lately. John reckoned it might be because he was off the cigarettes – although he had never done anything like this before. He would have consulted Mycroft, but he was rather embarrassed, not to mention bewildered (and a little confused), by these ordeals.

“John. You’re there. I know you are. Come in.”

John reluctantly pushed open the door. The harsh morning sunlight was streaming through a crack in Sherlock’s curtains, falling upon papers and what looked like remnants of experiments strewn across the floor. The consulting detective himself was lying face down on the bed, in yesterday’s shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, his curly hair an absolute mess, with a gun in his right hand.

“C’mere,” murmured Sherlock, gesturing with his left hand towards a spot beside him on the bed.

John gingerly worked his way across the floor, almost tripping on what appeared to be a human toe. He made his way to Sherlock’s bed and sat down on the spot Sherlock had indicated.

“What do you bloody want?”

Sherlock set the gun down on the bedside table then shifted around until he was on his side, facing John.

“Wanted to see you,” he murmured, looking down at his hands.

John was growing impatient.

“What for? Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“What is it then?”

Sherlock did not reply. His mind did not struggle often, but when it came to this - he was hopeless. He was finding it difficult to string a sentence together.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Sherl  - I’m not telling you where your cigarettes are.” Agitated with his flatmate, John got up to leave, but a tug on the back of his shirt stopped him.

John turned round. Sherlock was holding on to his shirt.

“You’re not leaving.”

“And why-“

John’s question was cut short as Sherlock grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him onto the bed with him. _Shit,_ John thought. _I forgot how strong he is._

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist, pulling him close to him, so close that John’s back was right against his chest and he could rest his head on John’s.

_But he forgets how strong I am._

John threw Sherlock’s arms off him and grabbed Sherlock in a headlock. After a short struggle, Sherlock twisted John’s arms away and pinned him down, but as he was about to straddle him, John lashed out and, taking Sherlock off guard, managed to pin him down and straddle him instead.

Sherlock raised his hands in recognition of defeat. “Okay,” he said, panting. “You win.”

John did not smile. “What on earth was that all about, Sherlock?!” he shouted, breathlessly.

“I was just – you know – experimenting, I guess?”

“Bullshit.” John dismissed Sherlock’s excuse with a shake of his head. “Utter bullshit. What sort of experiment requires you to _attack_ someone?”

“But John-“

“No buts, Sherlock. I don’t know why you’ve been behaving this way recently, and I thought it was just erratic behaviour due to being off cigarettes or something – but clearly it isn’t. Would you kindly like to paint me a picture as to what the heck is going on inside your head?”

Sherlock sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. “John, for once, I, Sherlock Holmes, am being incredibly transparent, and you are so naïve as to ask what I am thinking? Isn’t it obvious?”

John was annoyed. “No, no it is not. I don’t appreciate being pulled into random tackles and I don’t understand why you’ve become more touchy-feely all of a sudden. You’ve never been like this before, not in the slightest. Care to fill me in? Has something happened?”

Sherlock said nothing, but he looked at John with a gaze so full of emotion, so full of many feelings that words could not describe.

John was overwhelmed, but he understood. That look was enough. He wasn’t ready for this though – it was too much. He broke away from Sherlock’s intense gaze and got up off of him. He made for the door.

Sherlock was at his heels.

“Wait – John – where are you going?”

“Out.”

John didn’t care where. He needed some air, some time to think this over – and get his own feelings in order as well. Sherlock didn’t try to stop him this time. He knew he had conveyed his feelings toward the doctor perfectly – now all he had to do was to see if he would be accepted.

****

Sherlock heard John banging the front door of their flat shut behind him. He sighed, rubbed his eyes with his hands and ruffled his haywire hair into submission.

 _God damn it,_ he thought exasperatedly.

He got up, left his bedroom and began to pace backwards and forwards through the kitchen and living room area. For once, he didn’t have a bloody clue what to think.

It was clear that John had understood Sherlock this time – he’d deduced that much. It had certainly taken him long enough. _His mind really is placid._ But that look of confusion, of utter _bewilderment_ on John’s face – he really didn’t know what to make of it.

He didn’t know what to make of these damn feelings either. Sherlock had never been one for sentiment – John had expressed on several occasions that Sherlock was just like a machine. He solved crimes, he caught criminals – the people involved were merely pawns on the chess board. Faceless people, shadows – he didn’t care for their life stories or the fact that they were dead. He just cared about the work, about the absolute thrill he got when he got an interesting case to work on. He didn’t understand ordinary people and their ordinary concerns, their ordinary everyday problems. Sherlock had never really thought about love. In fact, he saw it as an obstruction. It was a weakness, a defect in humans. And yet, here he was, undeniably with feelings for John Watson.

The second Doctor John Watson had stepped into Sherlock Holmes’ life, it had changed completely. Even Sherlock admitted that. Mrs Hudson had idly commented on this a few times, and Lestrade always asked for the two of them to come whenever he needed help with a case. They’d become a pair. Never one without the other.

Sherlock had always cared about John.  He had always considered him a friend, even though he didn’t always use that exact terminology from the beginning. When had it been , then, that Sherlock had started to think about John in this way?

Sherlock had realised that he’d enjoy watching John doing the most menial of tasks. He’d watch him carefully as he was preparing coffee in the morning, watch the look of concentration on his face when he was reading the newspaper, and he’d watch the look of exasperation on his face when he went on a rant about Sherlock being lazy and leaving experiments scattered all over the place. He realised that he got a pang in his chest whenever John smiled that genuine, lovely, completely _ordinary_ smile at him. It was just a smile, yet to Sherlock, it melted his doubts away. He also enjoyed it when John praised him, although he had to admit it got annoying sometimes. But to have someone call his deductions ‘brilliant’ and ‘fantastic’ was a completely different tune as to having Lestrade looking confused and Sally Donovan calling him a freak and arguing with him.

John just made him happy. He enjoyed his company. He missed him terribly when he went somewhere. He even got a little jealous every time John got a new girlfriend.

At first he’d tried to convince himself that he was just annoyed because these girlfriends were keeping John from helping him on important cases, and that it was annoying to have to work a case alone because John did most of the legwork. In fact, it was most of the problem. Sherlock _needed_ John, almost as much as a blind man needed a guide dog. John was technically his guide dog, leading him through the rights and wrongs of everyday life. Sherlock didn’t have his own filter, so John was his filter.

Still uneasy, Sherlock sat down on his armchair and tapped his fingers impatiently. He attempted making coffee and then turned on the television – luckily _Jeremy Kyle_ was on. Sherlock was able to take his mind off John for a while by occupying himself with guessing each guest’s background and true intentions.

_He cheated on you? Clearly guilt. You cheated on him and the baby is not his. In your description of the child you said he had big brown eyes. Which is scientifically impossible given the fact that you and your lover both have blue eyes. Judging by your lavish and grotesquely pink clothing, dyed platinum blonde hair and oversized gold jewellery I can also come to the conclusion that you are accustomed to a wealthy lifestyle which he tried to give you for a while, but you got bored and searched for somebody with more money – like the man you’re having an affair with. You’re greedy for more cash so you want to get custody of the kids so you can take his money – what’s a few grand to him anyway?_

Sherlock’s thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off. Normally he would just ignore it (much to the chagrin of everyone around him), but he was still keyed up about what had happened with John.

It wasn’t John though, it was Lestrade.

Sherlock sighed and read the text.

_Sherlock, John is down here and moping in my office. As much as I would love to sit around and chat with him, I have stuff to be getting on with. –GL_

Sherlock typed a hasty reply.

_So what has this got to do with me? And you clearly don’t. I do all your work for you. –SH_

_Oi, watch it. I’ll have you know I’m good at my job. And it has everything to do with you, apparently. You did something to piss him off this morning and I don’t like hearing about your little domestics. Save it for the bedroom. Please phone him and get him to come back. I don’t think I can take any more of his lovelorn moping. –GL_

‘Lovelorn moping’?

_Fine. Do you need my help with anything else? –SH_

_I think we’ll manage. Now phone your boyfriend. –GL_

Sherlock groaned and dialled John’s number.

****

“John Watson speaking.”

“John, it’s me.”

“Clearly.”

Silence.

Too much silence.

Sherlock detected a note of sarcasm and also resentment in John’s “clearly”.

“…John, I’m not going to say sorry about this morning.”

“Why the FUCK not? It was out of order.”

“You cuddle with your girlfriends all the time.”

“That is not the point. You are not my boyfriend. Wait, how do you- oh never mind.”

“John, just come back and we can talk about it.”

“You obviously don’t know how to.”

“John, I need you to… just… please.” Sherlock whispered.

There was another silence, but it was less heavy, and more thoughtful.

“But Sherlock, what is there to talk about?”

“Why are you asking that when the answer is so obvious?”

Pause. “I’ll  be home soon. I don’t want to argue. Let’s work this out.”

****

Sherlock sighed with relief. He knew John would give in anyway. No matter how much he got irritated with Sherlock, he always came round. It was better to cooperate than argue.

Especially where Sherlock Holmes was concerned.

“Hello.”

John was standing right in front of Sherlock, and he hadn’t even realised as he’d been so lost in thought.

“John.” He smiled and John sat down.

“So.” John crossed his arms. “What are we going to do about this.”

It was more of a statement than a question.

“Whatever you’d like. I’m positive I’ve made my position clear to you on the matter.”

“Yes, Sherlock, but what matter is it you speak of?”

“Surely you’re not dull enough that you need me to explain it to you.”

“No, I’m not. I just want to hear you say it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, I have feelings for you. And they’re more than platonic.”

“Evidently.” John laughed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”

“I just think it’s hilarious how you can’t cope with feelings.”

“I usually cope very well.”

“No you don’t. Anyway, I’m flattered.”

“….And?”

John chuckled. “I’m flattered that you feel the same way about me as I do about you.”

Sherlock felt relieved. “I knew you felt the same way anyway.”

“No you didn’t, you git.”

Sherlock was about to retort then realised John was probably right. Although Sherlock had had a sneaking suspicion that his feelings may be reciprocated, he had no way of knowing for sure. Intricacies of the heart were not his specialty.

“So,” John continued, “what shall we do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be boyfriends now or whatever?”

“That would be marvellous, but…. What about the press and Scotland Yard and –“

“Oh shut up. Why should we worry about that right now?”

“True.” Sherlock smirked.

“What I’m thinking about right now is continuing what we started off this morning,” said John, walking over to Sherlock and pulling him in for a kiss.

“That sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fic I've posted online, and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading.  
> EDIT 13/09/13: Fixed the spacing and the mistake in Sherlock's deduction.


End file.
